Axler, James - Deathlands 66 - Separation

by Separation [lit]

  One of the men in the doorway laughed. From the sound of his voice, it wasn't the sec patrol leader of the night before. The voice had the same raw-throated richness, but there was a note in there that was almost effete, verging on the hysterical. It was buried so deep that it was inaudible, but the resonance struck something within Krysty's mutie sense and made her shiver.

  He spoke. "The whitelands produce nothing but the stupe. It would have been a natural justice if one of your pathetic heads was cracked like a ripe watermelon."

  "What a terribly nice man," Doc mumbled, the noise of the slamming door having wakened him. "Such a kind regard for humanity."

  "Humanity, you pale old fool?" the speaker snapped. "What do your people know of humanity?"

  "You would be surprised…or mayhap not interested." Doc yawned, rubbing his eyes. "Now would you mind not making so much noise, and be so kind as to tell us why you have interrupted our much-needed rest?"

  There was a moment's silence. As their eyes adjusted to the light, so the two men in the doorway became more than just shadow. One of them was the sec chief who had led the capture the night before. The other was of the same height and build, but stooped slightly where the other stood erect. He wore spectacles and had a slight squint, even in the dim light. But the most striking thing about him was that he was, like Jak, an albino.

  The longer the silence, the more tense Ryan grew. Doc had spoken without thinking, not even properly awake. In so doing, had he annoyed the sec chief?

  With no warning or indication, the sec chief burst into loud laughter.

  "You may be whiteland scum, but you have the courage of the cornered animal, I will grant you that. Now, let us speak no more of such things. I have come to see the albino, and I have brought my brother to speak with him."

  "Why think I want talk?" Jak asked quietly.

  The albino in the doorway stepped forward and hunkered down on his haunches so that he was level with Jak, who remained seated on the ground. He looked Jak over with a curiosity that was akin to viewing insects under glass.

  "Fascinating," he whispered, possibly speaking more to himself than to anyone around him or to Jak. "I had heard legend that the whitelanders could also produce albinos, and that they were treated in the same manner as we. But I had never seen one, nor had I ever expected such a sight…" His voice then increased in volume as he spoke directly to Jak. "How long have you been their slave, my friend, and why do you wish to stay with them when you could be free in our ville— free of their oppression?"

  Jak fixed him with a glare, his ruby-red eyes burning into the pinker orbs of the albino facing him.

  "Say it before, say it now—last time. These people my friends, we stand and fall together. Fuck you."

  The African-American albino stood and shook his head sadly. "My Lord, they really have you under their thumb, do they not? I offer you freedom, and you are so scared that you yet stand in thrall."

  Jak glanced around at Ryan. His expression was impenetrable, but the very fact that he had turned meant that he wanted a sign. And the one-eyed man knew exactly why—even as the island albino had spoken, the same thought had flashed through Ryan's mind. They were treating Jak as one of their own— that much had been obvious the night before. But to be offered freedom would mean a man on the outside of the jail, a chance to work for escape, and perhaps even an opportunity to find what had happened to Mildred.

  "You are free to go if you want," Ryan said slowly, trying to implore Jak to read the hidden meaning in his words. "You no longer have to pretend, and you are no longer our slave."

  As he spoke, Ryan stared at Jak very closely, and was relieved when he saw the briefest of understanding nods before the albino said, "Okay, you free me now. I join brothers."

  The island albino gave Ryan a suspicious look, as though he couldn't trust whitelanders to be so magnanimous. Ryan shrugged.

  "We're not in a position to argue, right?" he said.

  The island albino didn't answer, although his still-hostile glare was more than eloquent enough. Without speaking, he rose to his feet in one graceful motion. "Come with us," he said to Jak, holding out his hand. Even though it was unnecessary, Jak grasped it and allowed the man to assist him in rising from the floor.

  The sec chief, who they could now plainly see was holding his H&K across his body, raised it in salutation.

  "I would suppose that you are not as stubborn and stupe as you at first appeared. We shall see. Perhaps you will be set to work as our forefathers were. Perhaps we have learned from their errors and are more charitable. We shall see."

  He covered them while the island albino led Jak out of the jail. Once they were clear, he backed out, closing the door behind him. They heard the lock click as they were secured once more.

  "Well?" J.B. asked.

  "Just wait," Ryan replied. "It's all that we can do. If Jak can do anything, he will. In the meantime, I figure we should try to get some more rest, hope our injuries heal up before we get some action."

  JAK RESISTED THE TEMPTATION to look back over his shoulder as he was led away from the jail. Despite being about a foot taller than the wiry hunter, the island albino put his arm around Jak's shoulders.

  "You don't know how good it is to have another albino in the ville," he said in a confidential tone. "The brothers and sisters are good people, but there is always the sense that I am different from them. And so I am, in a sense. But to have someone else who lacks all color, rather than being white or black, is good. It gives someone to share identity with."

  "Not thought of it that way," Jak answered. "Where the fuck are we?"

  The island albino threw back his head and laughed. "My friend, you do not bandy words. I shall tell you."

  As they walked to the living quarters of the albino, he told Jak about the history of the island and also of the way in which the people worked, either farming, hunting or mining and scavenging for fuels. By the time he had finished, they had reached the albino's adobe homestead where he led Jak into a one room hut with two beds on opposite sides of the room, one of which had a table beside it piled high with books and papers. Beside the other bed was a Spartan arrangement of belongings, most of a practical nature.

  The albino laughed. Indicating each side, he said, "There you have, in a nutshell, the dichotomy of my brother and myself. I, Chan, I weave the legends and history of the ville, indeed of the world as we know it, into something that can help and guide us through the darkness of the future and into the light of destiny. I work with this," he added, tapping his head, "whereas my brother Markos works with this." He flexed his biceps and hit his chest. "He is a good man, but he believes in actions above words. As I am the opposite, then we are complementary to each other."

  "Markos, head of sec?" Jak queried.

  Chan looked at him quizzically. "Sec? Ah, you mean security, I would assume. Yes, he is the boss of security on Pilatu. But come, I know nothing about you as of yet, and we will have to decide what you can do to be a part of this land."

  "Name is Jak Lauren. And I hunt…" Jak began.

  IF THE ALBINO HUNTER had wondered where Markos had disappeared to—for he had parted company with them before they had reached the homestead—he would have been interested to know that the sec boss was walking across the awakening ville to the home of Sineta, with an intention to find out more about the woman he had discovered the night before.

  Mildred was still asleep when he knocked softly on the door to Sineta's homestead. The baron's daughter was awakened by the insistent sound, and rose to answer the call. "Markos, what are you doing so early?"

  "I have come to see the newcomer. It is important that we find out more about her. Chan has spoken to the albino who was with them, and has taken him away. The whitelanders freed him when they realized the position in which they found themselves."

  Sineta frowned, then looked back at the sleeping Mildred. "Freed?" she repeated. "I would not..."

  "Would not what?" Markos questione
d, sensing that Sineta was on the verge of a revelation.

  The fine-boned baron's daughter returned her gaze to him, and a look of bland indifference masked the curiosity she had felt. "I would not talk to Mildred now. She has only just fallen to sleeping, and she will need rest."

  Markos bit hard on his lip. There seemed to be some ambiguity surrounding the outsiders, and it would be best to find out the truth as soon as possible. However, it would not be appropriate to contradict the baron's daughter. He contented himself for now with a brief nod.

  "Very well. I shall return later."

  Sineta watched him walk away, then closed the door behind her and walked over to the sleeping Mildred.

  "What games are being played here?" she asked rhetorically.

  THE COMPANIONS SPENT the next couple of days under armed guard, locked up in the jail, only the sound of everyday life outside the barred window and the feeble illumination it offered as markers of the passing of time. They were fed every day, at around sundown. A tray of food, enough for all, was brought in by a woman, while a sec guard stood by with an H&K at the ready for any trouble.

  There was no indication that the prisoners wished to offer any resistance. They allowed the food to be left without the slightest sign of giving any trouble. Mostly because of the five that were left in the jail, only two were fit enough to consider any kind of breakout. Doc was weary and battered by his experiences at sea, and although he had incurred no serious damage, his bruised body and even more bruised mind sought the solace of an enforced peace to gather its resources once more. J.B.'s leg was improving, and he exercised it as much as possible within the confines of the cell, making sure that the damaged muscle in his calf didn't stiffen and seize up. As for Ryan, he still ached all over, but it no longer hurt him to breathe and the pain was lessening with each day. His ribs could do with a longer resting period if they were to heal properly, but as long as he was able to function, Ryan figured that they may not have the time for him to make a full recovery. Each hour, each minute, he hoped to hear news of Mildred, or for Jak to return to facilitate an escape. But with each hour that Jak did not, he was aware that he was healing more and would be better equipped for when the time came.

  For Krysty and Dean, it was frustrating. All the more so for the young Cawdor as he had dreamed of his mother once more. This time, not being in the state of unconsciousness induced by a mat-trans jump, he was better able to remember the dream when he awakened. And it disturbed him. Where the mat-trans dream had been a fantasy of his parting from his mother, this was more the reality of the situation. They were living in a hovel, on the run from who knew what. His mother had been earning what little money they possessed as a gaudy, but her sickness was making it more and more difficult for her to attract clients. She had taught Dean the arts of stealing from trash and from stallholders and merchants, wherever possible, to try to obtain enough food to keep them alive.

  They were living in one room, still on the run from ville to ville, and as he watched, a racking cough seized his mother.

  "Got to send you away soon," she gasped between coughs. "I'm on my way to buying the farm, and I want to make sure you're okay."

  "I'm not going anywhere," Dean replied defiantly. "Who's going to go and get food when you need it if you're too sick?"

  Sharona smiled at him. "You're strong, my sweet Dean, but I've made plans, to make sure you get away, to make sure you're safe. I'll go happy if I know that."

  "I don't want you to go," he replied simply.

  "Mebbe we'll be together again some day, who knows?" she said. "I love you, Dean. Always remember that."

  Who knows… The words had grown into a deafening echo around his head, jolting him awake in the middle of the night.

  Stuck in jail, there was nothing for him to do but to brood on the dreams. And wonder why he was missing his mother.

  "HE GOES THROUGH THE TREES. Swift as he is, the need to thread through them will slow him. Jak, you and Moses take the left-hand path. I and Kami will take the right."

  Without pausing to answer, Jak and the thick-set, stocky man known as Moses set off to the left, skirting around the edge of the dense clump of trees in which the boar had sought to hide itself. The heavy beast could be heard, squealing in fear as it flung itself through the trees, crashing into the trunks, stumbling on the roots. It didn't have the awareness to realize that his pursuers could predict its path and would take an easier route to cut it off as it emerged.

  Jak easily outdistanced the heavier, lumbering Moses, his legs pumping as he covered the ground with ease. The scent of the boar's fear was in his nostrils and the light of bloodlust was in his eyes. While he was about this task, Jak forgot all about his companions, left to rot in jail. When the beast was chilled, then they would return to his mind.

  The albino hunter pulled up as he reached the point where the cluster of trees began to thin, gesturing behind him for Moses to slow.

  "Still in there," the stocky man panted as he halted next to Jak. "You're lighter, more nimble. You go up into the treetops and get ready to drop. I'll take the animal from the side."

  "Okay. Careful, boar triple scared and triple pissed off," Jak said as he began to scale the nearest tree.

  "Don't worry, I've been doing this far too long to take unnecessary chances. I'm more likely to thrust my hand into a pit of snakes than take an angry boar head-on," Moses replied, breathlessly but with good humor. Jak didn't reply, but allowed himself a grim smile as he attained the full height of the tree. Trying to fight wild boar in this way was probably more dangerous than a pit of snakes. The albino youth couldn't believe that a four-man hunting team was assigned to bring down the one creature—and at that by chasing and agitating it so that it was scared, furious and fighting mad. Left to his own devices, the albino hunter would have stalked his prey and waited until it was at its weakest before striking. A beast such as a boar was too strong and unpredictable to be taken in full flight. But he had said nothing of this. In the past few days he had soon learned that the islanders of Pilatu had ways of doing things that had been fixed over the generations, and were now immutable. As an outlander—and one who was biding his time until he could help the rest of his companions to escape—he felt it was best to keep his head down and to not make waves…and mebbe try not to get chilled in the process.

  "Here comes," he called down to his hunting partner, his attention suddenly snapped back by the sudden approach of the creature. It had been audible the whole while, but from his vantage point he could now see the boar as it crashed through the foliage and slalomed around the root structures. Even from high up and at a distance he could see the manic gleam of fear in the beast's eyes.

  Kami and Jules, the hunt leader, had arrived at the opposite side of the outcrop. Shaped roughly like an oval, it came to a point where they had met. Each pair had skirted the outside to cover the possibility of the boar taking an early exit from the undergrowth, but the odds had always been weighted in favor of it making the distance in an attempt to lose what it believed to be its pursuers—the four men who waited now for it to emerge. Kami hunkered at the base of a tree, covered like Moses, while Jules scaled a neighboring tree so that he overhung the narrow path made by the confluence of tree roots that the creature was sure to take. As he edged along the branch to gain the optimum position, he was within touching distance of Jak, and the albino studied the man who led all the hunting expeditions. He was tall and rangy, with a heavily etched face. Streaks of gray ran through his close-cropped head. His hairline was bisected by the weal of an old and badly healed scar, which ran back across his skull to a point beyond the crown. His eyes were watery and bloodshot, and there was tension written in them as they met Jak's.

  "Ready, son?" he asked. Jak nodded.

  Both men were armed with short hunting spears, the light shafts made of whittled balsa that were only just heavy enough to carry the finely honed and razor-sharp heads. Double-edged, the heads were barbed so that they would go in
easily but resist any attempts by their prey to be removed and, in fact, would cause more damage as the attempts to remove them tore into the flesh. There was a window of a fraction of a second. The beast, squealing with fear, moved beneath them. For the briefest moment its back would be directly under their aim. In that moment, they would strike.

  There was no word of command. There was no necessity. Both hunters knew by instinct sharpened by experience the optimum moment to strike. As one, they plunged their spears downward. The balsa shafts were light, but the heads of the spears were of a heavy pig-iron metal; and the weight used the light balsa as a flight.

  One spear struck the boar where the skull joined the spine, the needle-sharp point of the head slicing through the thick layers of muscle that rippled on the creature's massive neck and shoulders. Simultaneously the second spear arrived at an angle, cutting into the animal's flanks, a throw designed to slice through the layers of flesh, fat and muscle to rip into internal organs, causing massive hemorrhaging.

  The boar simultaneously reared and twisted, the twin points of agony searing into its brain, confusion adding to the pain as it tried to work out where its enemy was and how best it could defend itself. It almost doubled over, flipping around to face the direction it had run, squeals of agony and fear increasing. While it was facing away from Kanu and Moses, the two hunters made their move.

  Darting from their hiding places, the men moved in on the creature, pulling back their arms to strike. They needed lightning reflexes at this stage, as the creature was erratic and unpredictable. It thrashed wildly, its awareness now clouded with a red mist of pain as blood flooded its guts and the barbed spearhead in the neck began to work its way down into the spinal cord each time it moved, cutting off motor neurone action.